Posts Tagged ‘Guest Contributor’
Jan
My Proudest Moment
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
The river was calm, and the fish were biting. I wouldn’t dare tell my father I hated fishing. It was our time together. I watched as he baited his hook and threw it into the water.
“Isn’t this nice, Son. I really enjoy our time together.”
“Me too, Dad.”
I swung my rod into the water and within minutes I got a bite.
“Reel it in, Son. That’s it. What a catch! That’s a big fish you got there.”
I looked at my Dad and his face was beaming.
I’d always remember how proud he was of me that day.
From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Jan
Old Flames
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
A haggard creature across the bar clutches her G&T with claw-like hands.
The aquiline nose stands out from the sunken skin, triggering a disconcerting recognition.
“It can’t be,” he thinks.
Sensing his gaze, the woman looks over.
The shiny dome where once was hair, the double chin, the beer paunch, are a disturbing parody of the man she’d known.
“Lawrence?”
They’d been passionate lovers a generation ago.
Overcoming mutual revulsion, they chat a while, no chemistry between them now.
The only chemical they have in common is the alcohol anesthetizing them until they go their separate ways into the night.
From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher
Jan
Ned
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Ned woke with a sore head. The boys would be bailing hay, might have a spare half-one of whiskey for him. Still wearing yesterday’s overalls he yanked on wellie boots and moseyed along the pot-hole filled coast lane up to the farms. Fred and Slap-head saw him weaving in and out of the irritated cows. Sneakily Fred poured a laxative into his moonshine. Great craic!
After a few good slugs of the bottle Ned hobbled quickly through the gate back to his stone cottage. Aggie was furious. He didn’t make it to the outhouse. Her mother’s floral sofa was ruined.
From Guest Contributor Valkyrie Kerry Kelly
Jan
Facebook Friends
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I only ever communicate with Kari on Facebook. We are too similar now, both forever reliving the war we shared like stale bread. She lost her Navy career after an inpatient stay while I am just trying to get to the end of mine by avoiding the pills doctors offer for anxiety and depression. Yesterday she posted a picture from Camp Bastion of her and a British nurse we worked with. The caption said this is my favorite person from Camp Bastion. I write in the comments section my least favorite person from Bastion was me. She says she understands.
From Guest Contributor Matthew Borczon
Jan
The Reason He Loves
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
“How do you have so much love for me?” my wife asked. We were laying on the couch.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You understand people so well,” she said.
“It just took time,” I replied. “I wasn’t always this way.”
She put her hand on my chest. “How were you?”
“I slept with half the town. I didn’t care at all about anyone.” A shameful silence followed. “One morning I felt empty and meaningless.”
“Then what?”
“I started searching for my soul. When I found it, I was in pain.”
“And?”
“I found the only cure was love.”
From Guest Contributor Steve Colori
Jan
Irish Eyes
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Marie stared in the mirror, her azure eyes gazed lovingly at slender curves. She shook her head wafting strands of dark hair about her waist. A grey tracksuit clung to her physique mounted above designer trainers.
She waltzed out of the house, across the field in view of the adoring workmen, and down to the muddy cliffs onto the sandy beach. Her feet clomped to the rocks, where she climbed the coral.
At the summit she perceived a clear pond. Therein, beyond the sea creatures’ majesty and waves of seaweed, perfection shone back. Fixated, even when the tide came in.
From Guest Contributor Valkyrie Kerry Kelly
Jan
Colony Collapse
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Hands full of bees, Alice screamed at the sky. Sitting in the grass, blades tickled her thighs. Bee by bee, Alice lined them up. “I’m sorry,” said the speaker at a funeral attended only by the dead.
Maybe she shouldn’t have quit work. Never built an apiary. Would’ve been better joining a gym. Cooking. Reading books that lived in corners of her home. Would’ve been better to speak what he said in the elevator, his voice curling green, twisting to lick her ears.
Alice lay down, tears falling into her hair. She didn’t want the bees to see her cry.
From Guest Contributor Michaela Papa
Jan
Displacement
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Love at first sight, different people from different cultures.
Driving my Pajero along the rugged coastline of Mayo. A fortnight I had lived in Ireland. Banished for my own safety; a key witness in court against something dark, dangerous. Displaced from my family for doing what was right, exiled into the night. The previous eve I lost myself in similar lanes, crying.
In daylight the shadows dispersed. He was in his tractor, he belonged, descendant of families forever etched in the Irish soil. Appointed by chance as my gardener, meeting by fate. I never once doubted. Three years married. Aliens.
From Guest Contributor Kerry Valkyrie Kelly
Jan
Underground
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
Gwen spotted us together in the subway. We were standing talking, and she walked up to us. She looked at me awkwardly fidgeting with her ring, while I stammered an apology. An apology for what; we just met by accident. Nothing happened, I promise.
“You two sure look like a cute couple,” she said, her voice full of self-pity.
Why won’t she listen?
“Busted,” you laughed; big joke.
“It’s not like that, we’re not back together,” I said, not after what you put me through last time.
No one believed me, not even myself; but it’s still not my fault.
From Guest Contributor David Rae
Jan
An Icy Lot
by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
I cautiously got out of my car into the icy lot. A man in a chair was spinning his wheels.
“Do you need any help?” I asked.
“What the hell do I need help for? Everyone thinks the cripple needs help. Damnit, no I don’t need help,” he said.
“I’m sorry, I just thought…”
“That’s your problem. Think too much. What do you know about being crippled?”
“I have schizophrenia,” I said.
“Well, congratulations. We’re both cripples,” he said. He broke a smile and we laughed.
“You don’t feel bad for me anymore do you?”
“Not at all,” I laughed.
From Guest Contributor Steve Colori